July 29, 2006

A Poet I Am Not -- Enjoy! -- Updated!

"Those look like thunderclouds,"I said,
"We best get off this lake."
I packed up blankets, sunscreen, hats,
Inflatables, a plastic rake.

Wind swept our umbrella and I gave chase,
Then stopped by a sudden screech,
I turned to look -- "Mama! Mama!"
"Party Girl's peeing on the beach!"

The big black cloud was bearing down,
The wagon finally loaded.
We took off running for the car --
Oh Mama! Our raft is floating!

As I ran back across the emptying beach,
The storm cloud finally broke.
The girls laughed and clapped from under trees
Watching Mom get soaked.

By the time the girls were cared for,
One with a diaper, both with thirst quenchers,
I'd lost the keys somewhere in the mess
Back out into the drencher!

I (finally) threw the van in drive,
Hit the gas and heard a crunch.
Sitting in the car parked next to me,
A man choked on his lunch.

A stone, a tree, dear me a dog?
I couldn't stop my hiccups.
I did the next most reasonable thing,
And backed the damn thing up.

More crunching, creaking, scraping sounds
"What's that word you yelled?" asked Sass.
I gingerly stepped out into the rain,
To see what had stuck us fast.

My nemesis? A knee high post
Cemented deep within the ground.
"Now who put that there?" I thought to myself,
Then took a look around.

In neat and tidy rows they stood,
One before each parking spot.
Why hadn't I noticed them before?
Wow. There sure were a lot.

M swooped in dripping from his ride,
My knight in shining bike gear.
"You WHAT? I mean, accidents happen,
Don't worry, I'll take it from here."

If there is a lesson to be garnered,
From this poorly written poem.
Dear reader, it's this and listen close:
Tomorrow, we're staying home!
**Updated to add: M took the car to the dealer who wanted $115 to repair it. We then decided to take it to someone my mom recommended, a small little shop. The owner said, "Ay-up. Won't take me 10 minutes," and he spoke the truth. He charged me a whopping $15. I thought of the slick salesman at the dealership, the one with the nice leather shoes and the new home in Florida. Then I looked at this man, the one who shouted Come here! so loud that I came running over, before I realized he was talking to the bolts on the car. Come here! he shouted several times. His shop was small, dirty, and not remotely customer friendly, but he was kind and quick, taking time from his project to help me out. Why is it those who have the least always give the most?

2 Comments:

Blogger Margaret said...

Oh no! That doesn't sound good. (Not the poem... the post.)

July 29, 2006 11:25 PM  
Blogger Margaret said...

Awesome! Can't beat a $15 repair. back in my college days I used to take my Chevette to a buddy of my dad's. His repairs sometimes included duct tape and the wire from a clothes hanger, but they were cheap and they worked!

August 03, 2006 10:59 PM  

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